Being for the Benefit of Mr Riddle
by Jade Munro
Summary: Voldemort has been defeated, leaving the Death Eaters with nothing to do but get as much revenge as they can before the Dementors catch up with them. Meanwhile, an attack on the Dursley house has left the family dead - and apparently Harry.
1. Default Chapter

P R O L O G U E  
  
There was still smoke rising from the ashes of number four, Privet Drive, on the 2nd of September - one day after being totally destroyed. To any regular bystander - that is to say, any Muggle - it would seem the tragic result of a particularly vicious house fire, little knowing the truth. The truth about an evil so great that an entire, powerful world dared not speak its name.  
  
Having heard the screams from within they all knew that the family of number four, the Dursley's, had not escaped. They had stood at the front lawn of the house, listening to the cries for help, but no one dared move. No one was willing to risk his or her own life for the family, even for the boy, Dudley.  
  
No bodies were ever recovered, having been burnt to ashes. It seemed remarkable to the police and fire department that a regular home could produce the amount of heat required to do so. It seemed, observed one detective, that the Lord Himself had destroyed the house. The Dursley family was gone; dust in the wind.  
  
* * *  
  
On the night of the 2nd of September, Albus Dumbledore stood, head bowed, where he had some sixteen years before. Gaze fixed on the remains of the Dursley home he forced his feet forward, to perform his unpleasant task. Harry Potter, the boy he'd brought to this very place, had failed to reach the Hogwarts Express. It had become obvious, then, what had happened, but Dumbledore refused to lose hope.  
  
"Glaciate," he murmured, flicking his wand. Instantly the site cooled, and Dumbledore moved himself to the middle, surveying the ground for the simplest clue that would answer his one question. He found it. A pair of small, round glasses, in oddly perfect condition amongst the devastation.  
  
Dumbledore sighed, feeling older and wearier than he ever had. He picked up the glasses and, with it, a handful of ash, placing both in a small sack to take with him to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. His duty here was done.  
  
The last Potter was dead. 


	2. C2

"What will you say to them, Albus?" Professor McGonagall asked, her own grief set aside out of concern for the students, Gryffindor house in particular. However, the 'them' she was referring to consisted of just two students, who had been Harry Potter's best friends.  
  
"The truth, Minerva. It would be impossible for me to hide it from them; nor should I try."  
  
"Are we entirely sure? Perhaps the boy is lost, or in hiding. Perhaps he has no memory?" McGonagall suggested hopefully.  
  
Dumbledore leant forward in his chair, his face grim. "You know as well as I that, if he were living, he would have been found. It is not a pleasant reality, Minerva, but one we must face."  
  
McGonagall nodded, swallowing dryly. "I'll call for Weasley and Granger. They should here the news before word spreads amongst the students. I dare say it won't be kept quiet for long."  
  
Just as she left Dumbledore's chambers, an enormous, heavily bearded man entered. Even through his great bush of hair, though, it was easy to see the telltale redness of his face. A look not suited to a man of his stature, but those that knew him were all too aware of the half-giant's raw emotions.  
  
"It's true, in'eh?" Hagrid asked, his eyes wet. When Dumbledore didn't respond right away, his let out a great, heaving sob. "It is, you ain' sayin' nothin', you'da said something if it weren'."  
  
"I only wish I could tell you otherwise, my friend. But yes. It is true."  
  
At this, Hagrid sank into a chair, his weight causing it to buckle. His sat for a few minutes, murmuring to himself through his tears. "No, no, he's jus' a boy.it ain' righ'.who di' it.tha's wha' I wanna know."  
  
"Now is not the time for such thoughts, Hagrid," Dumbledore said slowly, a note of caution in his voice. "Now is the time for grief, and above all else, we must support the children."  
  
"Why support the children? What's going on?" Ron demanded, almost running to Hagrid's side.  
  
Hermione, who had followed closely behind him, was equally alarmed. Though hers was more substantiated, as she'd known something terrible had happened the instant McGonagall had called for them. Ron had taken the opposing view, chiding Hermione for anticipating the worst, saying that Harry may simply have gotten himself into a bit of trouble for using magic out of school again.  
  
Taking a deep breath, she flatly asked, "It's Harry, isn't it? Something's happened to Harry."  
  
Dumbledore eyed her sadly for a moment; only Hagrid's weeping cut the silence. "Please sit down, both of you," he softly requested.  
  
"I'd rather stand, thanks," Ron said, a clearly audible quiver in his voice. "What's happened?"  
  
"The Dursley home was attacked two days ago. Nothing of it remains. All that was found at the site were these," he said gently, indicating the glasses on his desk. He stopped for a moment, watching as the information began to sink heavily into the 17-year-olds. "Harry is dead."  
  
While he knew he had been very blunt, he also knew he had to be in order for them to accept the truth of the words. The color had drained from their faces, both of them panting slightly. Hagrid's continued and now stronger sobbing did not help the situation.  
  
Hermione, finding her voice, looked desperately to Dumbledore. "How do we know? We can't just assume that he's -- " she started, her voice catching before she said 'dead'.  
  
"Hermione, I'm asking you to trust me. I know for reasons I cannot explain; though I wish I could. Please. Do not hold false hope. Harry is gone," Dumbledore finished, the finality in his voice becoming too much. Before anyone could make a move, Ron bolted from the room, Hermione running after him down the eerily quiet hallways of Hogwart's castle.  
  
* * *  
  
"Such a sad time it is," Lucius Malfoy smirked. "What a terrible waste. So young."  
  
He gazed out at the hooded men who stood with their heads bowed before him, promptly breaking into a wide smile.  
  
"Such an awful shame, his death. Don't you think so, Potter?" 


End file.
